Fall of Eros
by whatsamatta
Summary: He was stupid, so very stupid. And yet, he could not bring himself to regret it. It had been worth it, she had been worth it. And perhaps that's what scared his mother most of all.


_**Disclaimer: So, I'm working on somewhere around eight projects at once, and wouldn't you know it, this invaded my mind. Enjoy.**_

 _ ***I don't own Fairly Odd Parents***_

FOP

It was curiosity. Curiosity at best. Or maybe curiosity at worst. Or maybe it wasn't curiosity at all, but the thing within that directs his every shot; that magical, eternal, beautiful thing that was his sole reason for living. He would often like to think of himself as the incarnate, truest form of that most pure thing – but in reality, he wasn't. He was just a bearer. A dwelling.

A messenger.

But he was also an idiot.

She was a beauty, he couldn't help but surmise as he watched her. She would certainly make a young warrior a very lucky husband, coming home to that lovely face every night. Or she would have, were his mother not a jealous Goddess.

Back, far back before he had taken a new interest to the Fairie Godparents and borrowed their shape, he was a God. Tall as any human man, beautiful enough to sway their hearts from their wives and to the tan-skinned male. He was the son of Aphrodite and of Venus, equal Goddesses from two different yet similar cultures; makers of love. And for his mother he was a special warrior, the barer of her weapons that turn hate to love. Out she would send him, from their palace in the clouds, and with his arrows would work his magic and force love where love might not grow otherwise.

 _EROS!_ She called to him one day, furious with some unimportant village or city, made important only in their disrespect to her.

 _Yes mother?_ He could recall responding, by now used to her fits of jealousy and rage. She had stormed in then, golden red hair shining in the morning light. Her deep purple dress was nearly aglow with her aura of anger, fluttering around her like a flag in a battle wind.

 _I have a job for you, my most loving son._

How, even now many, many years later, could he remember her words to him?

She had been enraged by a small Greek village who claimed that their daughter was beautiful, far more beautiful than even the fair Aphrodite. Naturally she wanted retribution for this most heinous sacrilege, and so ordered he, her son, to go down and use his arrows on her.

 _Make her love the most hideous creature you can find. Avenge your poor mother._

Well, he never would have thought to call his mother poor, and on any other occasion, neither would she. But this was important to her – those imbeciles in that pathetic town were starting to worship this girl rather than the Goddess of Love. This simply wouldn't do.

And so down to Earth he went, quiver of arrows slung on his back between his wings, and bow held firmly in hand. The sun was high in the sky by the time he found her, a small dot of sunset pink in a sea of gold. She was walking through a wheat field, and he could see her hands gently caress and stroke the stalks, now waist high. In honesty he had expected her to be a blonde or redhead – he had heard the stories in town about how she must have been Aphrodite's human form, planting the image of his voluptuous mother in his head.

He had not expected a petite, raven haired woman. And she most certainly was beautiful. A few gentle curls framed her face, while the majority of her midnight hair was fashioned in the style of her peers – plaited braids pulled to the back of the head. She wore only precious few rings and bracelets, and one golden necklace. Her laughter, like glorious bells chiming from the heavens, rang out among the crop, sunshine, and breeze.

And suddenly, she turned. Her brown eyes searching the horizon, it was all he could do to remember how to fly, diving into the friendly wheat field. With baited breath he waited, and was relieved when she move back in her original direction, mixing equal parts folk song and laughter.

He hadn't dared seek her out again until well past nightfall, when all the fires had gone out and the sounds of the world asleep filled the streets. With the utmost stealth he stole into her chamber, and suddenly found himself content to watch her dream. Still as beautiful as the first crisp sunrise of winter . . .

 _EROS! Shoot her now while she sleeps!_ The commanding voice of his mother filled his ears, and suddenly he held an arrow in his grasp, poised and at the ready to shoot this poor woman. His mother's words came from his mouth like poison from a snake, and he surprised himself with the small hint of remorse that came with them.

 _Awake when some vile thing is near_.

She stirred.

Again he was overcome with her beauty, and in a rather clumsy state of affairs, dropped the tip of his arrow onto his foot. Gasping in pain and this new feeling rushing through his body, fragments of truth and fantasy melded together to create a new reality that flashed before his eyes. This want, need, to kiss her surged through his empowered body, and seeing as he is a God, he did just that.

Bent over, and kissed her firmly on the lips.

Bright brown eyes opened suddenly, darting from left to right frantically as she tried to assess the situation. A man had broken into her home, her chamber, and was kissing her. Did he plan on raping her? Stealing her away like a sovereign woman, only to make her his wife; or worse, sell her? Would she survive an act like that, stolen from her home, her family and friends, her dreams? She would fight that, to the death if need be. She was Greek, and be damned if any stranger would come and take her against her will.

He kissed her harder, heart and soul clenching at the thought of her not returning his affection. He loved her, could she not see that? Maybe he should tell her so, help convince her his affections are pure.

 _I love you_. His deep voice, the voice of a God, resonated deep within the echoing walls. She stilled then, eyes slowly moving back to the shadow above her which served as a man. He smiled, although she could barely see it, and he kissed her again. Softer, though, this time so as not to frighten her further.

 _You need not be frightened_. Brown eyes widened only slightly before narrowing in anger. With the strength of every Greek woman she descended from, she brought her right hand across his face with enough force to knock him off her.

"How dare you!" She screeched, nearly waking the whole house. Were it not for his inherited abilities, she would have.

 _But I love you . . ._ he tried to sooth but she would have none of that as she brought her hand back to give him another blow.

"I don't care!"

And that soft hand – that had become hard in the heat of battle – that hand was suddenly and inexplicably grabbing his robes and pulling him down. Her lips crashed against his furiously like waves against the rocks and he bruised her shoulders with his grip.

How quickly they descended into madness after.

He can still see her, pale flesh radiant in the low light. Her curls spilling around her shoulders and passed her breasts, those breasts that heaved with breath as she clung to him. Oh, but how she tasted, his mouth and hands learning every curve of her body, following every trace of sweat that glistened and gleamed.

She was far from idle, her own curious hands caressing and pinching anywhere she could on her strange captor and lover. Any thoughts she had entertained about fighting had long since fled at the feeling of him joining with her. The sounds of passion took form in grunts and pants and pleading whispers.

Maybe it was the magic of the arrow talking through him, but he was certain this was the work of no arrow. This was fate. Destiney.

As they lay together after, she tried to gaze upon him but had to avert her eyes. The power coursing through him would let no mortal look upon him directly.

"You are no mortal man." She could feel his muscles tense beneath her fingers as the words left her lips. His mouth may lie to her but his body could not.

 _No._ She released a sigh as her fingers delicately scratched around a nipple. Already he was beginning to ready for another coupling.

"What will become of me?" There was no denying that what was once fresh field had been sowed – she would be seen as tarnished in the eyes of her family and any potential suitors.

 _You shall become my wife of course._ The moment she looked up to meet his eyes was a moment he would never forget.

As her gaze – filled with devotion and something else he spent his entire existence creating – locked with his, his mother appeared in the room. The beauty of her rage was so magnificent that even he had to avert his eyes. With a shriek she pulled the blanket from them, hair and dress whirling around her in a mighty gale.

 _Betrayer! I send you to dispatch your mother's aggressor and what do I find instead? You opening her legs!_ His young conquest moved from the bed without a care for her nakedness. He can still recall the fierce look of her face – She was the daughter of Sparta and of Athens, of Ithaca and of Thebes; she would not cower in fear.

 _Mother I shall take her as my bride. Thus she will leave the mortal realm and you will be worshiped unequivocally again._ Yet she would not be pacified. Her battle winds extinguished the candles, and it was dark vehemence that illuminated the room.

She laughed then, and it was a sound that struck terror through his heart like one of his arrows.

 _Oh no my thoughtless son, you should have fulfilled my request. By joining with this foolish child, you have sealed her fate – one far worse than if you had just cursed her to love something vile. Now you will both have to live with your recklessness._ And with that she waved her arms, and the room was plunged into darkness.

He was alone.

 _ **~O~**_

Avoiding his mother for a few weeks, it was among man that he walked. Searching for his lost lover, the only thing he was able to find was her name. Psyche. She had disappeared from her home one night, and after searching for countless hours her family had given her up for dead. Naturally, they connected her beauty and their boastful words to that of her vanishing and assumed that Aphrodite was the cause. They began praising her once more, and ceased even mentioning their daughter.

And so his mother had won again.

He went back to her only once, bosom still heavy with grief for his missing lover. When he came upon her throne, she welcomed him with a kiss, and a warning.

 _So long as there is power in me, I will continue to remove any lover you deign to. You are mine, and not to forget that. Do not disobey me again._ He nodded with a kiss to her cheek. Then he bowed, and left her throne room.

He did not return.

For years, centuries, he tried to find Psyche, but his mother had hidden her well, and he never learned her fate. He tried to walk among man and take lovers, but all of them left him feeling hallow, and all of them ended in a terrible fate. There was nothing left to him but adaptation.

The Old World, the one of his mother and the others, fell to new Gods and new ways. The thought had crossed his mind to try and find Psyche again, but he always felt the presence of his mother, like an anxious stone in his stomach. He didn't dare tempt her again.

So he changed, found a new race of Fae and became one of them, and in that he found the one way to beat his mother at her own game.

He became the God of Love Cupid. And as the God of Love, he loved wealth. It was exceedingly easy to love something that had no soul, for if it had no soul his mother could not remove it. He buried himself in it, Love and Money – and it was only in moments of weakness that he thought of that one night so long ago.

The night he spent with a woman, the one creature he had loved wholly.

The night one creature loved him wholly in return.

The night his recklessness had cost a young woman her future, and he his soul.

The night he regretted his lack of regret.


End file.
